


There is nothing for me but to love you

by alterocentrist



Series: We found love right where we are [6]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Drabble, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterocentrist/pseuds/alterocentrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Should this moment be bottled up and sent to a stranger, they would see a pair of young women so madly in love, and so immensely happy. Because when everything else was taken out of the equation, this was all they were. Sometimes, Carmilla liked to pretend that this was the absolute truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is nothing for me but to love you

Of the wonders of technology that emerged in the 21st century, online shopping was the one that Carmilla never had the opportunity to indulge in. She didn’t possess a credit card; being a 334-year-old who, technically, did not exist kept her from trying to open a bank account. Mother used to give her a sizeable allowance, in cash, every month anyway.

Still, Carmilla would sit in lecture halls, sneaking peeks at her classmates’ laptop screens as they browsed online stores for clothes and shoes. A part of her was annoyed that they were paying a lot of money to sit in university, yet chose to waste their time on the internet. But mostly she ached to live in that kind of normalcy.

And then Mother was gone, and it took a while for Carmilla to heal, and maybe—no, definitely—she was still healing. They all were. Carmilla saw learning freedom as part of the healing. So she asked Laura to accompany her to the bank. She tried not to show how excited she was. She handed the most of her savings—she did not spend up large since her return to Styria, and she stashed her allowance away unless it was absolutely necessary—over to the clerk, and suppressed a smile when she was handed a piece of paper with her name on it and the amount of money she had in her new account.

Two weeks later, she received her debit card in the mail. She held the shiny plastic rectangle in her hand, felt the raised bumps of numbers with her fingertips. Is this was freedom felt like? “Only under late capitalism, Karnstein,” she muttered, half-chastising herself for acting like a giddy 18-year-old. Not that she wasn’t one. On the outside, at least.

She asked Laura to help her set up internet banking and to activate her debit card. Laura patiently walked her through the process, sneaking an occasional kiss, a giggle evidently brewing behind her lips.

“Can I buy some music, love?” Carmilla asked her. “For when I borrow your iPod. I can’t keep listening to Taylor Swift forever, you know.”

“Really? I thought you _loved_ Taylor Swift,” Laura joked. She opened iTunes on her computer. “Okay,” her hands poised over the keyboard, “what are we looking for?”

Carmilla bought four albums. Billie Holiday. Ella Fitzgerald. Donny Hathaway. John Coltrane. It was Laura’s debit card that was linked to the iTunes account, so after paying for the music, Laura taught her how to transfer money from between their accounts. An hour later, when the albums were all downloaded and synced, Laura unplugged her iPod and handed it to Carmilla.

“Keep it,” she said. “I think you love it more than I ever did.”

“Cupcake, I couldn’t –”

“Carm,” Laura said. “Seriously? You know I hardly even touch that thing. I want you to have it.” She launched into a ramble about switching the iTunes payments to Carmilla’s debit card, in words that Carmilla didn’t fully understand, but appreciated.

She absently ran her thumb around the iPod’s clickwheel. She felt lucky. Starting a life that didn’t revolve around her Mother’s supernatural con game was difficult, but the little things Laura did with her—insisting that they sit down together for dinner most nights, going to the movies every week, taking part in Perry’s dorm activities—convinced her that it was possible.

* * *

Carmilla kept very little possessions when Mother took her back to Styria in 1953. She didn’t buy much since. When trends changed, she’d buy new clothes, but only enough to make four to five different outfits. She kept the same three tapes to go with her Walkman, the same two CDs for her portable CD player, and the same four books. Her aim was to only have as many things as her rucksack could fit. In case she finally mustered up the courage to leave Silas forever.

Laura, of course, now had enough time not just to complete her coursework, but also to notice that Carmilla practically owned _nothing_. She lived out of her green canvas rucksack, she used Laura’s shampoo and shower gel, and she borrowed people’s laptops or used the library computers whenever she needed to write a paper. Sometimes she would iron Carmilla’s clothes and hang them, or she would buy bigger bottles of her toiletries, but she didn’t say anything about the issue.

One night, Carmilla was half-dozed off in her bed after watching a travel documentary (Laura’s pick) in their dorm room. She could hear Laura puttering about, turning off her computer and then putting the snacks and drinks away. She let Laura’s tender hands guide her down in a more comfortable position. But when Laura touched the zipper down the side of her boot, her eyes opened.

“Don’t.”

“But don’t you get uncomfortable?” Laura was frowning.

“Just let me keep them on, please,” Carmilla said. “And get in bed.”

“All right. In a sec.” Laura retracted her hand from the boot and went to the bathroom.

Carmilla rolled over to face the wall and listened to the sounds of water running. She sighed in satisfaction as she felt the mattress giving way under Laura’s weight, then Laura’s warmth sidling up right against her back, and an arm curling around her middle. “Good night, cupcake,” Carmilla said.

Laura’s feet lightly kicked the back of her boots. “Good night, babe.”

* * *

They went to Brussels for a week over their spring break, because Laura had never been, and it was Carmilla’s first holiday without Mother’s shadow looming over any potential enjoyment she could have.

Laura was at a bakery getting them an afternoon snack when Carmilla noticed a thrift shop across the road. She wandered across and found herself rifling through boxes and boxes of vinyl records, on sale for a couple of euro each. There was a varied range, from Swedish death metal to Motown to clarinet concertos.

She owned a gramophone once, back when she lived in her small apartment in Paris, before Mother found her. It was one of the things she sorely missed when she was taken back to Styria. She wondered what happened to the stuff in her apartment after that evening when she just never returned. Her gramophone could’ve sat in a thrift store like this, too, along with her records. She didn’t count, but she must have owned hundreds of them by 1951.

“Hey babe, I was looking for you,” Laura said from behind her. Carmilla turned to see that she was holding a paper bag of pastries in one hand. “See something you like?”

“Yeah.”

They did not leave the store without at least ten records, which Carmilla tucked into her bag immediately, as if they were so easy to lose.

* * *

“Happy birthday!”

Carmilla’s eyes opened to Laura hovering above her, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and oversized hoodie that she _definitely_ did not have on while they slept. Carmilla sat up, adjusting the covers around her own naked body. “Morning, cupcake. You’re dressed, and it’s offending me.”

“Deal with it.” Laura handed her a glass of blood then lowered a small plate by her face. On it was an unusually large red velvet cupcake (her favourite) with a single lit candle. Laura was grinning. “Make a wish, birthday girl. Happy three hundred and thirty-fifth eighteenth birthday.”

“Don’t remind me.” Carmilla rolled her eyes. She blew the candle out anyway. She had not celebrated her birthday in _centuries_ ; she was astounded that she still remembered it when she was asked.

They cuddled in bed and divided the cupcake between them. After Carmilla had finished the glass of blood, Laura patted her thigh through the covers. “Get dressed, I’m gonna go get your birthday present from Perry’s room.” She leapt out of bed and left Carmilla by herself.

By the time Laura returned, Carmilla was seated on top of the covers, in jeans and one of Laura’s t-shirts. Laura smiled at her choice of clothing and then presented a box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper. “Open it,” she told Carmilla.

She tore at the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside was a turntable, in matte black, with a grey platter. Carmilla stared at it for a good moment, then looked up. “Laura…”

“It’s just,” Laura wrung her hands, “you got all these records, and you haven’t been playing them because I realised that you didn’t have a record player. So, you know, I looked them up online and –”

Placing the turntable gently on the pillows next to her, Carmilla tugged on the front of Laura’s hoodie to pull her in for a kiss.

Laura relaxed. She cupped Carmilla’s face with her hands and happily murmured against Carmilla’s lips. “So, I’m guessing you like it?” she asked, once their mouths disconnected.

“Like it? I _love_ it.” Carmilla picked the turntable up and examined it. “I wouldn’t have a clue on how to operate it, though.” Having to learn how to work computers and iPods and smartphones and tablets meant that some of her past knowledge got a bit hard to summon.

“Let’s give it a go, shall we? I’m sure it’s simple enough.” Laura took the turntable from Carmilla and placed it on her desk. “If all else fails,” she connected the power cord to the base of the machine, then plugged it in the nearest outlet, “we can always call LaF.” She crossed the room to Carmilla’s bookcase and ran a searching finger through the records arranged on one shelf. “Anything in particular you want to listen to, Carm?”

“Surprise me.”

“All right then.” With a hint of a playful smirk on her face, Laura selected a record and took great care to hide it from Carmilla as she loaded it onto the turntable. “And then I think you should do this?” She fiddled with a couple of switches. The turntable’s tonearm lowered itself on the vinyl’s edge.

A beat. Then a bouncy piano riff. Followed a familiar melody played by a brass instrument.

Laura walked over to Carmilla and offered her hand. “May I have this dance?”

“It’s morning,” Carmilla said, but she was laughing, amazed at Laura’s love and thoughtfulness.

“This song is applicable at any time of day when it’s about you,” Laura said.

“That’s real cheesy, cupcake.” But, unable to resist, she took Laura’s hand and stood up. She remembered the first time they were in this position, a temporary escape from a war they thought they could not win—yet here they were, months later, still standing.

Not just standing, in fact, but _dancing_! Admittedly, Carmilla was surprised at Laura’s ability to keep in time with the song’s jazzy rhythm. Coordination had never been her strong suit, after all. They moved together throughout the song, maintaining eye contact the entire time, and neither of them made an attempt to silence their giggles.

It was eight-thirty in the morning. They both had lectures to attend at eleven o’clock. Yet here they were, standing in the tiny aisle in between their beds, _dancing in each other’s arms_ to Billie Holiday singing “The Way You Look Tonight”.

Should this moment be bottled up and sent to a stranger, they would see a pair of young women so madly in love, and so immensely happy. Because when everything else was taken out of the equation, this was all they were. Sometimes, Carmilla liked to pretend that this was the absolute truth.

* * *

The weather began to turn warmer in Styria. At the end of a humid evening of hunting, Carmilla entered their dorm room, perspiration causing her shirt to cling to her skin. (Oh, if there was a human bodily function that Carmilla wished vampires didn’t retain, it was sweating.) Sighing disdainfully, she stored the bags of fresh blood in the fridge, before walking over to Laura, who was sitting at her computer. She placed her hands on Laura’s shoulders and smiled as Laura leaned back into them.

Laura tugged her earphones off and turned around in her chair. “Hey there,” she said. “Good hunt?” She wrapped her arms around Carmilla’s waist, rested her head on Carmilla’s torso.

“Yeah,” Carmilla said. “Sorry about the sweat. It’s really hot out there. You know, winters here get so damn bleak and cold that I almost forget how warm it can be.”

“I know what you mean,” Laura said. She pulled away and patted the fabric by Carmilla’s stomach. “Go shower? Then we can do some readings in bed. I’m just gonna duck out to see if Perry or LaF have a spare fan lying around.”

“Yup, that sounds perfect to me.”

After her shower, she towelled off in their room, the breeze of the fan cooling the water droplets on her body. She pulled on a clean t-shirt and underwear, and was about to reach for her loosest fitting jeans when Laura grasped her arm.

“You’ll get way too hot in those, babe.”

“Then I’ll just sleep on top of the covers,” Carmilla said, shrugging. She avoided sleeping in her leather pants, for obvious reasons, but she almost always slept in jeans since she bought her first pair back in the seventies. Habit trumped occasional discomfort, she believed.

Laura fished something out of her drawers and tossed it at Carmilla.

It was a pair of pyjama pants, black with thin white vertical stripes. It was made of a lighter fabric than the flannelette that Laura almost always wore. Carmilla stared at it, then looked up at Laura. “I guess I can’t wear my boots to bed with these.”

Laura laughed. “Not a chance in hell.”

Carmilla put the pants on and was surprised with how pleasant the loose fabric felt on her legs. “Wow, these are breezy,” she said.

“You look great in them.”

“They’re _pyjamas_.” Carmilla rolled her eyes.

“I know that,” Laura said. She reclined on her bed—nose already buried in her journalism course reader—and patted the space next to her. “C’mere.”

Before obliging, Carmilla took extra care to place her boots and socks on the floor by the edge of the bed. Habit trumped even this brand new feeling of comfort, no matter how hard she worked to get accustomed to it.

* * *

They went to dinner at a family-owned pizzeria in town with Danny, Kirsch, LaFontaine and Perry to celebrate the latter two’s graduation from Silas. Laura, Danny and LaFontaine did most of the talking, with a quip from Kirsch now and then, while Perry ate her pasta in neat, even bites and chuckled at parts of the conversation.

Carmilla mostly listened as well. But she was less modest with the food, digging into her pasta and sneakily picking toppings off of Laura’s woodfired pizza. She even attempted to sneak a spoonful of Danny’s risotto, which earned her a swat on the hand and a glare from the redhead.

“So, what are your _exciting_ plans for the future?” Laura asked LaFontaine and Perry.

The two of them exchanged a smile, before looking back at Laura. “Well,” LaFontaine started, “we’ve both been accepted to graduate programmes at the University of Frankfurt. I’ll be doing a fellowship in microbiology and parasitology, and Perry is…” They looked at Perry expectantly.

“I’m going to be researching and writing a thesis on broader political themes in late nineteenth century German literature,” she said proudly.

“That sounds complicated, but fun!” Kirsch said. He took a swig of his beer. “Since we’re on this topic, I just wanna announce that I’m transferring to the States for sophomore year.” His gaze fell to his lap. “This year has just been _hard_ , with SJ and Will dying, and the kidnapping... “ He raised his eyes again. “I’m gonna miss my bros first, but you people come a close second.”

Danny’s hand was on his shoulder. “Aw, Kirsch. That means a lot.”

They all murmured their assent.

“I’m –” Danny bit her lip, “I’m transferring too. To McGill. It’s closer to my family, and I just feel like I need to get away from Silas too, you know?”

“Yeah,” Carmilla addressed everyone for the first time that evening. “I think we all know that.”

She, more than anyone.

* * *

Carmilla and Laura stayed in a hotel that night, because their dorm’s move-out day was the day before. The room was lovely, romantic, despite the unsightly presence of Laura’s large suitcase and Carmilla’s beat up duffel bag on the floor.

They got ready for bed, then undressed and slipped in, naked, underneath the cool sheets. Carmilla lay on her back, and Laura was on her side, turned towards her, but their bodies were barely touching, except for Laura’s fingers drumming ghostly patterns on the skin between Carmilla’s ribcage.

“I feel like everything is happening way too fast,” she said.

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, love?”

“Like, I’m already having to part ways with friends, and I only just finished my first year of university.” Laura laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry. It must sound ridiculous to you. You’ve lived through so much.” Her voice ached with youth.

“No.” Carmilla shook her head. Words escaped fast from her mouth, her tongue dulled with wine. "I understand where you’re coming from." Her mind and soul have aged centuries, but her undead heart, much like her undead body, still felt like it was stuck at eighteen. "And if I’m being honest,” she hesitated, “I’ll miss that little gang. Even Big Red.”

“Ha! I’m _so_ gonna tell her that you said that.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Carmilla slurred. She rolled over so she was facing Laura, and reached out for one of Laura’s hands. “Hey,” she said. “Let’s get out of here, too. I don’t think I want to stay in Styria anymore. I only stayed because of Mother, and she’s –” she swallowed, “that’s no longer something we have to worry about.”

She could see Laura’s hazel eyes glinting with curiosity. “Where would we go?”

“Well, I’ve always liked the sound of Berlin.”

* * *

And so to Berlin they went.

The transfer to the Humboldt University of Berlin was seamless, on account of Carmilla’s stellar grades and Laura’s standout second semester. After a long discussion on whether it was _the right time_ , they opted to rent a nearby apartment rather than apply for student accommodation. At no point in her centuries on earth did Carmilla imagine being so free as to be able to have hours and hours of heated conversation with a beautiful girl on whether their relationship was at the appropriate point for the proverbial U-Haul to make an appearance.

She even got a job working three nights a week at the student-owned pub, and tutoring first years in philosophy at the student centre on Sunday afternoons. Laura, on the other hand, worked regular shifts at the university library. So they could fund _their_ new life. The thought of this blew Carmilla’s mind.

But now she stood in the middle of a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of a building on a busy Berlin street, scanning the assortment of available hooks—”For your pictures,” their sweet landlady had told them—on the faded viridian walls for the best place to hang a Magritte print that Perry bought them as a housewarming present.

This was what it was like to learn how to be free.

“I swear,” Laura was squatting on the floor, her back turned to Carmilla, “my dad has prepared me for every possible scenario I could face away from home, except how to assemble furniture from IKEA.” She waved the sheet of instructions. “These are apparently in English, but are they, _really_?”

“Love, I think you need to take a break,” Carmilla said.

“But Carm!” Laura protested. “If I don’t get on with it today, I never will, and then we won’t have shelves to put our books on when classes start in,” she peeked at the date on her phone, “ _three_ days.”

“I can help you later.”

“I thought we decided that I was in charge of the furniture and you were in charge of the decor.”

“Oh, _screw that_ , cupcake,” Carmilla said. “I’ll help you later, okay? Let’s go get food.”

“Okay, but let me give this one more shot,” Laura said.

While Laura busied herself with the instruction sheet again, Carmilla spotted a small box on their dining table. She walked over to examine the contents. It was the turntable. She hadn’t used it since their last week at Silas. Right next to it was a box of her vinyl records. Carmilla gently lifted the turntable out of the box and set it up on their bare kitchen counter. And then she shuffled through the dusty record covers until she found the one she wanted.

She took the record out and laid it on the turntable’s platter. And then she engaged the tonearm. Music filled the room. She approached Laura, who stopped fussing over the pieces of flat pack furniture as soon as she heard the piano introduction.

Laura got on her feet and turned around. “Carm –”

Carmilla held her right hand out, which Laura took with her left. Another step, and her left hand found Laura’s waist easily. Laura’s right hand grasped the underside of her arm around her shoulder. They were face to face now, swaying slowly, grinning at each other, letting the beat wash over them instead of following its rhythm.

Laura sang along, so quietly, as if the words were for Carmilla—and _only_ for Carmilla—and nobody else was worthy of listening:

“ _I will feel a glow just thinking of you, and the way you look tonight._ ”

Nothing about Carmilla’s life was normal. Nothing about it will ever be. But at least, with Laura by her side, she was foolish enough, daring enough, _hopeful_ enough to start again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for my lovely girlfriend (Tumblr user tinygaybuttercup). We were swapping headcanons the other night and Hollstein+Billie Holiday came up, so I decided to write this as a surprise. The title is from "The Way You Look Tonight".
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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